by Mike Resnick
“But if he's lifting the spell…” said Edison, frowning.
“He's making peace with Roosevelt,” said Holliday. “But while he speaks for the Apaches, he's not the king of all the Indians, and Roosevelt's not the president of the United States. There are lots of Indians who don't want to lift the spell, and that includes every medicine man and shaman on this side of the Mississippi except Geronimo.”
“So you're saying that there may actually be a war coming…”
“Right,” said Holliday. “With Geronimo and Roosevelt on one side, and every other Indian on the other.”
“Where do you fit in, Doc?” asked Edison.
“Me? I'm just a dying man who's putting two interested parties together.”
“Rubbish. For one thing, you're the best shootist alive.”
“Well, alive and free,” amended Holliday. “Don't forget John Wesley Hardin.”
“Is he still incarcerated in some Texas jail?” asked Edison.
“Last I heard.”
“Anyway, you're not the type to sit on the sidelines.”
“I may be so sick I'll have to lie down on the sidelines,” replied Holliday.
“I hope you're joking.”
“I hope so too,” said Holliday. “But if I were a betting man…”
“Enough,” said Edison. “For a dying man, you're as indestructible as any man I've ever met.”
“Good,” said Holliday. “Then I'll be around to see what you bring to the battle.”
“Me? But Geronimo doesn't even want to see me.”
“He'll want to see what you can produce.”
“What makes you think I'll produce anything?” asked Edison irritably.
“Because if we're to have a country that extends to the Pacific, I have a feeling Geronimo and Roosevelt are going to need all the help they can get.” Holliday smiled at Edison. “And that means you.”
HOLLIDAY WAS SITTING AT A TABLE in the Oriental when Masterson entered the saloon, followed by his companion.
“Damn, but you made good time!” said Holliday, surprised to see them. He got to his feet. “You must be Theodore Roosevelt.”
Roosevelt extended a hand. “I've been anxious to meet you,” he said. “I've heard and read a lot about you.”
“Most of it lies, I'm sure,” said Holliday, taking his hand. “I've heard a bit about you myself.”
“From Democrats?” said Roosevelt with a grin. “All of it lies.”
Roosevelt released Holliday's hand, and Holliday immediately began trying to shake some life back into it. “That's quite a grip you've got there,” he said. “Shake my hand three or four more times and I'll have to learn to shoot left-handed.”
Roosevelt laughed heartily. “I like you already!” he said. “But of course I knew I would.”
“You have an affinity for dentists?” said Holliday sardonically.
“Not that I'm aware of. I hope you have one for politicians. Well, former politicians.”
“The only good politician is a former one,” said Holliday. “Or a dead one.”
“I wish I could offer more than a token disagreement,” said Roosevelt. He looked around the interior of the Oriental, then pulled a chair over and sat down, and Holliday and Masterson followed suit.
“Any problems along the way?” asked Holliday, offering his bottle to Roosevelt, who shook his head, and to Masterson, who took a swallow.
“Nothing to speak of,” replied Masterson. “A couple of highwaymen tried to hold us up on our way through the New Mexico Territory.” Suddenly he grinned. “The world is changing.”
“What happened?”
“Young Mr. Roosevelt got the drop on them with his rifle—they must have figured anyone wearing spectacles is blind, because they weren't paying him any attention—so he disarmed them, offered to go a few rounds of fisticuffs with them, beat the crap out of them, then patched them up and treated them to dinner.” Masterson chuckled at the memory. “Now I know how he wins the voters over. Those two volunteered to ride shotgun for us as we passed through Southern Cheyenne country, and swore their eternal friendship when we parted.” He shook is head in wonderment. “It's not like riding with Wyatt, let me tell you.”
Holliday laughed. He expected Roosevelt to look uncomfortable, but the Easterner simply looked pleased with the result of the story.
“Too bad Johnny Behan's not sheriff anymore. I'd love to see you run against him.”
“I'm through running for office, for a little while yet,” answered Roosevelt. “I'm here to see Goyathlay.”
“You know his real name?” asked Holliday, surprised.
“Once I knew I was coming out here, I made sure I packed a couple of books about the Apaches. I don't know how good his English is, so I thought I'd better learn to speak his language.”
“Must be recent books,” remarked Holliday. “He's only been the boss since Victorio died.”
“But he's been one of the leaders for twenty years now,” said Roosevelt. “An admirable man, from all I've learned.”
“He's responsible for the death of thousands of white men,” said Masterson.
“He killed them while protecting his people,” responded Roosevelt. He turned to Holliday. “You've spent time with him. What's your opinion?”
“He's an honorable man,” said Holliday. “On those occasions that he's a man at all.”
“I don't understand.”
Holliday smiled. “You will.” He paused. “You really speak Apache?”
“I'm not sure of the pronunciations,” answered Roosevelt, “but I'm pretty sure I can understand it if it's spoken to me.”
“Geronimo will like that,” said Holliday. “He's not some ignorant savage, and he resents being treated like one.”
“When do we meet him?” asked Roosevelt.
“Tomorrow we'll ride down to his lodge,” answered Holliday. “I'm sure he knows you're here.”
“I'll stay here,” said Masterson.
Roosevelt turned to him. “Why?” he asked curiously.
“Bat had an unpleasant experience the last time he paid a visit to Geronimo,” said Holliday with an amused smile.
“Stop grinning!” snapped Masterson. “There was nothing funny about it!”
“It sure as hell wasn't funny while it was happening,” agreed Holliday.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” complained Roosevelt.
“Bat killed one of his warriors, and Geronimo, who speaks enough English to know what a bat is, turned him into a huge one every night from sunset to sunrise.” Suddenly Holliday smiled again. “So if you've got a nickname like Bull or Hawkeye, I'd suggest you keep it to yourself.”
“It wasn't funny,” growled Masterson. “It was a living hell.”
“Clearly it ended,” said Roosevelt. “You kept me awake half of each night with your snoring.”
“I did a service for Geronimo and he lifted the curse,” said Holliday.
“Ah!” said Roosevelt with a smile. “A quid pro quo.”
“Damn!” said Holliday happily. “Latin! I knew I was going to like you. Have a drink!”
“No offense, but I want to keep a clear head until this business is over. The results are too important.”
“Fair enough,” said Holliday. “You got a room yet?”
“Yes, we took out a pair of rooms at the Grand Hotel,” said Roosevelt.
“Yeah, we took a quick tour of the town—well, what's left of it—before we came over here,” added Masterson. “I see you've got a baseball diamond outside town.”
“I thought it was just a flash in the pan when it came to Denver,” said Holliday, “but then it spread to Leadville, and damned near every town between there and here.” He shook his head. “Doesn't make any sense, a bunch of people paying to watch other people trying to hit a ball with a stick.”
“I prefer prizefighting myself,” said Roosevelt.
“Is this John L. Sullivan all he's cracked up to be?” asked
Holliday. “We've heard about him all the way out here.”
“He's a drunkard and a braggart, but he's as good as they say,” replied Roosevelt. “I wish I was about thirty pounds heavier. I'd like to take him on myself.”
“And Bat would write the story,” said Holliday.
“And the obituary,” added Masterson. “I've seen the great John L. Best athlete around, now that Hindoo's retired.”
“Hindoo?” asked Holliday.
“Best racehorse in American history,” said Masterson. “He'd run down the backstretch at Belmont Park and the trees would sway.”
“Really?”
Masterson smiled. “Well, they would if there were any trees there.”
“You really don't miss being a lawman at all, do you?” asked Holliday.
“It cost me a brother, got me shot at pretty regularly for seven years, and kept me broke all the time,” answered Masterson. “What do you think?”
“Well, I'm glad you're finally happy.”
“I hope I still am after tomorrow,” said Masterson without smiling.
“Of course you will be,” said Roosevelt. “He sent for us.”
“He sent for you,” replied Masterson. “He and I are not each other's favorite people.”
“You're staying in town,” Roosevelt reminded him.
“Tell him, Doc,” said Masterson. “He could appear right next to you right now if he wanted to.”
“From what I understand, once he and Theodore make their deal, whatever it is, we're all in a lot more danger from every Indian who isn't an Apache,” said Holliday.
“I take very little comfort in that,” said Masterson.
“Once we leave for Geronimo's lodge, go over to Tom Edison's place,” suggested Holliday. “You'll be safer there than anywhere else.”
“I almost forgot!” said Roosevelt so loudly that he startled a couple of men at the next table. “I want to meet the fabulous Thomas Edison before we leave town. Do you think he's available right now?”
“He'll be in his office, which doubles as his lab,” affirmed Holliday.
“Then what are we wasting our time here for?” demanded Roosevelt, getting to his feet.
“Just a second,” said Holliday. He pulled a pencil out of his pocket, scribbled Doc on the bottle, and carried it over to the bar, where he handed it to the bartender.
“I don't suppose Wyatt Earp's in town?” asked Roosevelt as they walked out into the street.
“Not for a couple of years,” answered Holliday.
“How far are we from the O.K. Corral?”
“A four- or five-minute walk,” said Holliday. “At least, at the speed I walk at.”
“Let's stop there on the way to Edison's,” said Roosevelt.
“Any particular reason?” asked Holliday.
“You've no idea how famous it is, even in New York. I'd hate to be in Tombstone even for a day and miss the chance to see it.”
“Or Edison,” said Holliday. “Or probably Buntline, too.” He paused. “Is there anything you're not enthused about?”
“Ignorance,” answered Roosevelt. “Now, which way is the Corral?”
THEY TRUDGED ACROSS THE FLAT, barren, featureless desert, where even the snakes and scorpions waited until dark to come out.
“Let's stop for a rest,” said Holliday, reining his horse in.
“It's got to be a hundred and twenty degrees, Doc,” said Roosevelt. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can find some shade.”
“I'm a sick man, Theodore,” said Holliday. “Either I climb down for a few minutes now, or I fall off in the next mile.”
“All right,” said Roosevelt. He pointed at a shaded outcrop a few hundred yards away. “But let's stop there, so we can enjoy what little shade there is.”
Holliday nodded and steered his horse toward the outcrop, dismounting and immediately sitting down on the ground with his back against a tree. Roosevelt considered hobbling the horses, decided they were too hot to run off, then squatted down, stood up, and repeated the process half a dozen times.
“What the hell's wrong with you?” asked Holliday, frowning.
“Nothing,” replied Roosevelt. “But I didn't get my running in this morning, and a man's got to keep fit.”
“Just surviving in this heat ought to be enough,” said Holliday, pulling out a flask and taking a drink.
Roosevelt shook his head. “A fit mind and a sloppy body are no better than a fit body and a sloppy mind.”
Holliday stared at him for a long moment. “I'm surprised you didn't run here from the Badlands.”
“If we weren't operating on such a tight schedule, I might have run part of it,” admitted Roosevelt with a grin. “How long a rest do you think you'll need?”
Holliday shrugged. “I don't know. Until I feel stronger. Why?”
“Well, I thought if it would be more than ten or fifteen minutes, I'd pull a book out of my saddlebag and read a chapter or two.”
“Damn!” said Holliday, shaking his head in wonderment. “You are the most remarkable young man I've ever met.”
“Surely you're not going to tell me you never read,” said Roosevelt. “Bat told me you minored in classical literature.”
“I did,” agreed Holliday. “But I know better than to take a book along when it's a million degrees and we're on our way to visit Geronimo in his own lodge.”
“Are you expecting trouble?” asked Roosevelt curiously. “After all, he wants to see me.”
“He's seeing you in the one place he feels protected,” noted Holliday. “Remember, he told me that the other medicine men aren't ready to lift the spell yet. They don't figure to be too thrilled with this meeting.”
“They don't know who I am or what I'm doing here.”
“Damn it, Theodore, they're medicine men. They can hold an entire nation on one side of the Mississippi when it wants to expand. Believe me, they know what you're here for.”
“Tell me about them,” said Roosevelt, taking a sip of water from his canteen. “What can they do besides keeping most of us—not all, I must point out—east of the river?”
“You ever hear of Johnny Ringo?”
“Yes,” said Roosevelt. “I think he was killed about four or five years ago in Texas.”
“He was,” agreed Holliday. “The first time.”
Roosevelt frowned. “The first time?”
Holliday nodded. “A medicine man named Hook Nose brought him back from the dead, bullet holes and all, and sent him to kill Tom Edison.”
“He obviously didn't succeed.”
“Tom had an equalizer.”
“You?” asked Roosevelt.
Holliday smiled. “He invented the equalizer. I fired it.”
“I'm glad I hit it off with him and Ned last night,” said Roosevelt. “I have a feeling we may need his help.”
“That's what he's here for,” said Holliday. “The government sent him West to study the medicine men and try to invent something to counter their magic.”
“He's turned Tombstone into a more futuristic town than Manhattan,” noted Roosevelt. “Has he had any luck with the medicine men?”
“Minimal,” answered Holliday. “Little bits here and there, against Hook Nose and others. But he hasn't been able to lift the spell. Hopefully Geronimo will do it for him.”
“Geronimo's the most powerful of them?”
“He'd better be, because he's going to have fifty or sixty of them opposing him.” Suddenly Holliday smiled. “And you.”
“And us,” Roosevelt corrected him.
“Not me. I'm just an onlooker.”
“Sure,” said Roosevelt with his characteristic grin. “That's why you contacted me and why you're riding across the desert to Geronimo's lodge.”
“Circumstance,” said Holliday.
“We'll see,” said Roosevelt.
“A month from now I'll be checking into a sanitarium in Colorado, and living out what remains of my life as comfortably as possible,
” said Holliday.
“I don't think so,” said Roosevelt.
“Why the hell not?” demanded Holliday pugnaciously.
“Because exceptional men are few and far between. You happen to be one, John Henry Holliday. You are capable of remarkable feats, some of them distasteful, all of them exceptional—and it's my observation that Fate usually has plans for exceptional men.”
Holliday pulled out a fresh handkerchief and coughed into it. It came away bloody. “Fate's played enough tricks on me already,” he said, pocketing the handkerchief. “All I want it to do is leave me alone.” He paused. “All I ever wanted to be was a dentist and a loving husband. I didn't plan to be a shootist, or spend most of my adult life living with a hard-drinking madam. I could tell five minutes after I met you that you want to be something special, that you revel in your exceptionalism.” A bitter smile. “Not all of us do, Theodore. You want to be a mayor or a governor? More power to you. I just want to lie in a bed and have a little less trouble breathing.”
“I hope you get your wish, Doc, truly I do,” said Roosevelt.
“But?” said Holliday. “Sure sounds like there's a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
“But you and I are riding to meet the most powerful medicine man on the continent. If we don't make a deal, America's stuck on the other side of the Mississippi for God knows how many years and decades, or even centuries. And if we do make a deal, you assure me that every other medicine man will be out to kill us.” An amused smile crossed his face. “I just don't see how that leads to a bed in a sanitarium. An earlier grave than you anticipate, perhaps—but not one near a sanitarium in the Rockies.”
Holliday took another swallow from his flask. “I wish you didn't sound so goddamned sensible,” he growled, and Roosevelt chuckled.
“Have we rested long enough?” asked the younger man.
Holliday grimaced and got to his feet. “I'm tireder now than when we sat down. Might as well try to rest on the horse.”
They mounted up and began heading south again, Roosevelt identifying every bird, insect, and snake they saw by their scientific names. “When this is all over,” he said, “I've love to come back and collect some specimens for the Smithsonian and the American museum.”
